


Every Dream’s a Journey Away

by OnlyOneWoman



Series: A Simple Man [5]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: Amends for the real Ned Low, And a little bit of love..., And for Tadhg Murphy who deserved more to his role, Billy Bones POV, Billy Bones is a cinnamon roll, Crack Relationships, Crack Treated Seriously, Dark Past, Emotionally Repressed, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Grief/Mourning, He's sick and twisted but full of love, Hurt, I'm drunk while posting this just so you know, Longing, Lowbones, M/M, Mutual Pining, Ned Low POV, Ned Low has feelings, Ned Low is so broken, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Seduction, Smut, Strangers to Lovers, Tenderness, The Author Regrets Nothing, Unexpected feelings, canon time, widower
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 19:47:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21287198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlyOneWoman/pseuds/OnlyOneWoman
Summary: I should probably post this tomorrow when I'm sober, but fuck that. I love my Lowbones crack ship and welcome anyone who'll give it a chance.Title is shamelessly inspired by Nightwish's "Away"  and I dedicate this piece of angsty crack smut to  E_A_Phoenix who woke me up from the Black Sails dormancy I've had since November 2017. I honestly don't know how to thank you.To any other person who might give this a peek: I truly understand why Billy Bones and Ned Low looks like complete bullshit (because canon wise it is) but BS didn't really make Ned Low justice and both the historical figure as well as Tadhg Murphy deserve better.
Relationships: Billy Bones/Edward "Ned" Low, Edward "Ned" Low/Original Female Character(s)
Series: A Simple Man [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1530410
Comments: 12
Kudos: 12





	Every Dream’s a Journey Away

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rising_Phoenix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rising_Phoenix/gifts).

The hunt had been successful. No losses, although Muldoon had been hit by a nervous guard who probably fired more out of a shaky finger rather than an attempt to actually resist and Flint, of course, had shot the idiot on sight and the French captain surrendered what goods he shipped without any further interruptions. Not the biggest prize, but a good one and even Dufresne was happy with the calculations as he wrote down several barrels of French wine, fine silk and spices in the log.  
  
Silver was less than happy about his matelot being wounded, no wonder. While Billy helped tending to one of the damaged minor sails – nothing that couldn’t be quite easily mended – he noticed the quartermaster standing rather restlessly by Muldoon’s side, questioning Dr. Howell about everything until the gunner got sick of the mother-henning and told his matelot to shut up and let the doctor do his job. Silver actually did as he was told, for once.  
  
Billy, when done with the canvas repair, sat down to stitch up a tear in his breeches as the distinct smell of Randall’s stew was spreading on the ship. Mostly, the crew was too amped up from the battle – or busy tending to canon holes and such – to manage eating this early after a raid, but this was a rather easy one and the prize was no fleet, just a single merchant ship with a captain wise enough to know when resistance was futile.  
  
Flint opened one of the chests and let out a loud victory roar, the others cheering too when seeing the coins and Gates and DeGroot gave each other a rough hug, grinning at the prize. They were both a little older than most of the crew and used to think ahead – not quite as Silver, but still – and this meant they could all rest for a while back in Nassau now, doing the necessary repairs and fill up the supplies, maybe even getting better canons, who knew?  
  
Of course, the crew didn’t think about such things right now, but rather the girls, the drinks and what else they spent their shares on, mostly deaf to Dufrense’s pleadings that they’d save some for rainy days.  
  
Billy was no different than his brothers, but he wasn’t thinking of whores or trinklets or even the rum right now. The marble he wanted to put his hands on, was of another kind and as was the reality of a life in Nassau, there were no guarantees Elijah would still be in Nassau – or even alive – if and when the Walrus got back.  
  
***  
  
“Enough, lass…”  
  
Ned pushed the hands off him, not rough, just determined and she pouted a little so he gave a smile.  
  
“Ye’re a sweet ride… Caroline.”  
  
She lit up with the mention of her name. Ned supposed not many customers cared to remember the whores’ names, but he’d always had a good hand with women if they managed to get over his looks. That didn’t happen often though and when he’d pulled his breeches back up, he dug in his purse for a rather generous sum, smiling wryly at the way the young redhead eyeballed it.  
  
He reached it over and then, when she was about to take it, he held it back.  
  
“Ye better not spread tales about my generosity, lass."  
  
She just swallowed, shaking her head eagerly now with worried eyes and Ned nodded, planting the coins in her palm with a chuckle.  
  
“Now get the hell outta here an’ let me dress, aye?”  
“As you wish, Captain Low.”  
  
Coins were always reliable, Ned thought as he buckled his belt and made sure the whore hadn’t gotten her hands on his weapons or other possessions. He was spent, bodily satisfied but more so from the news the lass had shared.  
  
The Walrus had been spotted not two hours ago and no, Ned wasn’t fucking_ longing_ for Flint’s first mate, he just liked the rush of it, wanted to dive head first into the uncertainty. It was, after all, an uncertain world and with Ned’s past, he most definitely prefered to live in the now. He left the room, patting the shoulder of his cabin boy, Mark Read.  
  
“Ye go enjoy yerself now.”  
“Thank you, Captain, but I’m good.”  
  
Ned looked at the boy who most likely was a very cleverly disguised girl and one of the newest recruits to his crew. He – or she – was too much of an asset for Ned to look closer into how much of a boy he really was. Read was the best lookout he’d had and the crew knew not to make any advances. They also knew it wasn’t due to Ned claiming the boy. The Fancy and it’s crew was known for it’s brutality, but there were limits and the lines were clear and sharply drawn around women and children. No raping, no killing of the fair sex and you only killed boys if they put up too much of a resistance.  
  
Mark Read looked around the inn with eager yet hesistant eyes and Ned shrugged.  
  
“Suit yerself then, boy. Ye’re off duty.”  
  
He smirked at the boy, who smiled and then hurried away, most likely to nurse a drink in some dark corner. Caroline was passing Ned now and he gave her a smile she answered in kind, obviously pleased with the payment she’d received.  
  
Making men, boys and yes, girls and women as well, feel good about themselves, was something Ned Low could pride himself of. A cheap way of getting resistance out of the way.  
  
“…back now. Met DeGroot on the beach an’ he said…”  
  
Ned sharpened his ears when passing a table with men he didn’t know, only vaguely reminding of the Ranger’s crew, but he wasn’t sure and he left the inn with Mr. Meeks dodging his steps, dissatisfaction annoyingly running through him, despite the recent release.  
  
He was a hungry man though, never truly satisfied, his blood running with the tide and the waves, crashing and burning like the ships he took as prizes. Along with his quartermaster, Ned left the tavern and walked with long steps towards the port. He had business to attend to, after all. Just before he hit the yawl, he spotted the Read “boy” and he turned around, amused.  
  
“Mr. Read, ye’re a damn fast shooter.”  
  
Mr. Meeks laughed rather loudly at the innuendo and the boy blushed.  
  
“No girls available, Captain, and I’m in no mood for drinking.”  
  
Ned thought for a moment and squinted towards a now familiar ship.  
  
“No? Well then, perhaps ye could do me favour, boy…”  
  
***  
  
It could be a trap. Billy looked at the note for the umptenth time, trying to place the shy messenger somewhere in a memory, but failed. He’d been approached by him like he’d been waiting, a short boy walking with tense shoulders and the hat pushed forward as if trying to make a less noticable impression.  
  
He’d asked for a Mr. Bones of the Walrus and when Billy confirmed it was him, the boy had handed over the sealed note and hurried away as if he’d been chased. The words were all but scribbles, but Billy had no difficulties to read them or tell who’d sent them.  
  
_Lead me astray._  
  
Underneath it, there was a poorly formed sunset and a lamp drawn, not an exact replica of the one in the abandoned house, but accurate enough for the message to get through. Billy had been starring at it for the past hours whenever he could get into a private corner and when the cargo and the rest of the necessary work was done and he could leave and be gone up until right before noon the next day – ranks had it privileges – he hurried ashore with the yawl, barely partaking in the chattering about pussy and ass or noticing the amused looks from Silver and Muldoon as he left with long steps.  
  
He could get a horse, it would take less time, but there were a good two hours until sunset and even walking wouldn’t take long.  
  
Billy didn’t quite reckognize the emotion. The want, yes, but this… _yearning_ was new. The extent of it foreign and confusing, tantalizing and now as he was off duty and alone, with no one to talk to or having to act casual for, he could let it loose. He’d been dreaming of this every goddamn night the entire hunt and the journey back to port. Some nights he’d been stirred awake from the dream, fumbling in the darkness for a body that wasn’t there and then he’d unbuttoned his breeches, shovelling a rough palm down the fabrics and tugging the memory to life.  
  
He walked fast, couldn’t make himself slow down. The wild was calling, that’s how it felt, this need he not yet had a name for, only a scarred face with a blind eye. Scars and blindness, how apt. The sun wasn’t set and he was already seeing the house, the forgotten one not even poor bastards would need to be satisfied with in a place like Nassau.  
  
Billy could feel his heart beat in the most annoying, utterly unnecessary way. He was a pirate, for God’s sake, and far too experienced to walk into an ambush so what was the deal about? He loosened his knife and pistol out of habit as he reached the front door, looking around, standing still to listen but there were only the sounds of crickets and birds and the ocean’s distant rumbling far away from this hidden outpost.  
  
He knocked on the solid door and listened as he heard the distinct steps of heavy boots.  
  
“Who’s there?”  
  
The familiar voice had Billy almost sighing with a relief he didn’t want to reckognize and he swallowed.  
  
“One who’s been lead astray.”  
  
The door opened and two eyes, one milky-blue, unseeing and another, sharp and heated, as feral as Billy remembered it, peered at him into the darkness. For a moment, they just stood still, the natural suspicion that kept a pirate alive still lingering and then, the man in the doorway lowered his pistol as did Billy. He took one long step over the treshold and sealed their mouths together.  
  
***  
  
They’re lost to this, both of them. Ned is being pushed back into the house, manhandled in a way he’d normally never allow and the door is still ajar behind them as Billy presses him onto the old wardrobe with loose doors and still they’re attached by their lips.  
  
It’s primal, rough and desperate, but no fight for dominance, just a need that has to be stilled, an overflow that has nowhere to go and can’t be held back. They’re not talking, what’s there to say that their bodies can’t form better?  
  
Billy Bones slides his hands up and down the man he must’ve started to suspect the real identity of, something that doesn’t make his need any less, because he knows only the man he’s shared a bed with and the ghost stories are mostly just that: stories. Elijah or Ned or whatever his name is, is all but clamped up against the wall and Billy doesn’t seem to mind it one bit.  
  
They’re panting and Billy roughly widens the man’s legs to have them swirled around his waist. It’s like his spine is a rope, drawn and tensed tight, keeping him upright while sending lightnings up and down, causing his skin around the tailbone to knot and he’s so hard he aches. The friction as he grinds against the man is so sweet, almost too much so and he’s not gonna last for long if he doesn’t hold back.  
  
Only he can’t and the man in his arms is clawing his back, pressing closer too, no sign of wanting to stop or even pause it. Neither of them has the patience nor the stamina to be slow now and in a silent, mutual acceptance of that, they keep rutting through fabrics, the wall creaking a bit and their pantings and moans incoherrent and breathy. It’s been weeks and whatever release they’ve had during their separation, it’s not been nearly enough to still whatever this sudden, uncontrollable hunger is.  
  
Ned lowers his head into the crook of Billy’s neck, nibbling first, then right out biting onto the collarbone and he shouts, not holding back a single feeling as he’s shooting into his breeches and Billy’s breaths get faster, moans more uncontrolled by this clashing and he’s not even inside the man but it doesn’t matter. He comes like he’s had his hands bound behind his back throughout the entire hunt and growls into Ned’s neck, biting too and it’s frantic and messy and exactly what they need.  
  
They’ve not yet said a word since the clash.  
  
***  
  
“Wasn’t sure if it was you…”  
“No? Ye get many notes like tha’?”  
“No. I’m just not one to walk into an ambush.”  
“Yet, here ye are.”  
“Yes… Here I am…”  
  
They’re messy, shirts untucked and belts on the floor and the feral man’s hair is ragged from Billy’s tugs. He’s leaning back into Billy’s arms and a bottle of rum is wandering between them. Elijah – or Ned – takes a huge swig and tilts his head towards Billy’s neck, eyelids closed.  
  
“I needed that…”  
“The rum?”  
  
He’s teasing him, has to, because Billy is who he is and the intensity of what wasn’t even a proper fuck has taken him by surprise. Ned – it’s not confirmed yet but it fits – is a small man compared to himself, but still a solid, welcome weight in his lap and he glares up at Billy, a smile in his eye and then the grin.  
  
“Dinnae take ye for a monk. Not had yerself some arse onboard, huh?”  
“No.”  
  
Billy gives his own smirk, the one he knows works on boys and girls and, judging by the amused and intrigued look from Ned, it has the same effect on some men as well. He kisses the hair.  
  
“Thought about you. Was hoping you’d not be angry for me just taking off.”  
“I wasn’t.”  
  
Ned’s hand is walking shallowly over Billy’s thigh.  
  
“An’ ye’re here now… “  
“Mm… What was it you said, again… Oh, yeah, _it’s an uncertain world, best to live in the now_.”  
  
There’s a small chuckle onto his chest.  
  
“I’m flattered. Wasn’t even sure you’d remember me.”  
“Yet you’re wearing my gift.”  
“Wha’ can I say, I’m not opposed to bribery.”  
  
Billy leans closer, planting another shallow kiss, this time on the man’s temple.  
  
“I’ve been thinking about you...”  
  
He slides down to Ned’s thin stomach, circling over the damp skin under the shirt, the spent cock soft and dormant, nestled in a vale of dark hair. He’s never felt this drawn to a man, yet he’s surrounded by so many, almost all of them bodily stronger and bigger than this lithe, short pirate. It’s not an advantage thing, it’s something else, that feeling he can’t yet name and maybe that’s just as well.  
  
After all, he does not know Ned Low, and neither of them has yet revealed their real name right out, although Billy can’t imagine the captain doesn’t know that he knows too. But by not saying it out loud, they can still be strangers, no strings attached either to each other or a crew or a name. Now as the first rush has calmed down and they’re able to speak, drink and just be, Billy finally feels relaxed for the first time in weeks.  
  
It’s late but closer to midnight than dawn and Billy’s hands are sliding up and down Ned’s frame again. It’s not a conscious thing, not an attempted seduction, he just can’t not. He’s having something he barely knew he could long for and it’s stirring his blood right down south again and the man lets out a pleased hum, swallowing the last sip from the bottle and throws it carelessly on the floor.  
  
“Ye know wha’ I’ve been thinking o’?”  
“What?”  
  
There’s a small writhering against his belly, low down, and the man leans into his neck, breath hot against his skin.  
  
“Every night, in my hammock… I’ve been thinking o’ having ye in me again…”  
  
Billy bites back a moan from the confession, digging fingers harder into the warm thighs.  
  
“…o’ ye fucking me… hard… ‘til I cannae feel _shite _except ye…”  
“Jesus Christ, you’re blunt…”  
“Aye, an’ ye love it, don’ ye, mate?”  
“I do, my sweet…”  
  
***  
  
He’s feeling light, so light as the man lifts him. No one else has ever handled Ned with such ease, the strenght is almost unnatural. He’s not a big man, no, but the way Billy Bones pulls him to straddle him is doing something to Ned. The danger is there, this man could crush him, could rape or torture him right here and no one would know, no one would hear Ned scream. There’s no bodily advantage to take over this giant and that threat makes Ned’s blood boil.  
  
Billy doesn’t let him chase now, isn’t allowing any teasing even if Ned is above him. They’re rested enough for their cocks to react to the grinding. Ned rolls his hips as Billy tugs his breeches down and with some impatient struggle, they’re soon all naked, Ned back to straddle his unexpected lover’s lap.  
  
The man is warm, his arms cradling Ned’s body so easily it’s like being in chains of flesh. He pulls him so close it’s almost hard to breathe but Ned doesn’t mind. He’s feeling alive like this, in another way than he does when he’s drenched in someone’s blood and the rush of power and victory is wiping out the hollowness inside for a moment. When Billy sets his arms behind Ned’s head and pulls him in for a kiss, the tenderness of it, the stark contrast to their hard grinding makes Ned feel like he could cry.  
  
He can’t speak, not without revealing the amount of weakness his body is giving into now and instead Ned grabs the man’s wrist hard and guides it right, but instead of shoving right in, Billy starts rubbing along Ned’s crack, determined but not going deeper and when Ned makes a frustrated roll with his hips, Billy stills him gently.  
  
“Patience, beautiful…”  
  
It’s a surprising move and Ned lets out an involuntary gasp as Billy tugs at his hair.  
  
“I was thinking about you too…”  
  
His hand is rubbing hard between Ned’s buttocks, impatience growing and it’s maddening as hell, knowing that he can’t simply force Billy right, that he has to wait, has to accept the loss of control and when Billy nibbles along the side of his neck, licking the vein there, Ned all but sobs.  
  
“Fuck… I… Ye gotta…”  
“Gotta what, beautiful? You weren’t sure I’d remember you, huh?”  
  
A delightfully rough tug at his hair and Ned is about to loose all resistance. Billy chuckles.  
  
“You should know I was thinking about you, every moment I had to myself… Could’ve asked a mate, you know, but I didn’t. You know why, hm?”  
“Nah… Tell me, sailor…”  
“Because…”  
  
Ned gasps as the finger enters him roughly.  
  
“I could only…”  
  
It comes out, Ned whines at the loss and then it’s back again, slicker, harder, more determined and he’s panting fast, nails digging into the man’s shoulders.  
  
“…think of you. I just… wanted _you_, Ned.”  
  
***  
  
He’s never seen anything as beautiful as the man riding his hand. This is no captain and he’s no quartermaster or first mate now. In this room, lit up by a few candles, they’re just two men, two human beings giving and taking what they want without resistance, without hesitation or bloodloss.  
Without shame.  
  
For all the things Billy has yerned for, he didn’t even _know_ there was something like this to want. Now that longing is an ache with a name. It has a scent, a voice and hips moving like the crest of a wave, not as a performance or seduction, but a natural response to the pleasures given by just a couple of fingers and a splash of oil. Billy has never experienced anything like it, not with the way Ned is writhing around his fingers, how he’s flushed with need, hair getting stuck onto the naked face, wide open with emotions that don’t need words. They just are.  
  
“Fuck me… Just… goddammit, just _fuck me_, Bones!”  
  
It’s easier this time, his lover is already so wet and opened, lax and needy and Billy arranges them differently, onto their sides. He’s not sure if Ned will tolerate it, the closeness it will create, but the man is following him easily as if he’s been boned like a fish and Billy cradles him, puts an arm under his head before scooting Ned’s upper leg up and forward.  
  
He’s prepared for some resistance, but when he presses onto the puckered entrance, Ned is all but pulling him in, it’s so easy and they both moan as Billy slides all the way in, teasing Ned’s sweet spot almost right on. The man groans, bites his lip and when Billy leans down to kiss it, he can taste blood and salt. He’s keeping his hips still for a moment, just cradling the man, gathering himself.  
  
He has to, or it’s gonna be too much for them both.  
  
***  
  
There are small breathy huffs, almost whimpers, touching Ned’s neck as Billy finally starts fucking him. The man is so strong, his movements determined and controlled. He’s not letting himself loose, doesn’t let Ned either but cradles him like a lover would, thrusts careful and too soft at first and Ned growls.  
  
“I’m not gonnae break, Bones.”  
“But I might, Ned…”  
  
Ned has been fucked plenty, but rarely by a man of Billy’s size and girth and never by someone saying his name like that. He’s filling him completely and in the midst of the impatience, Ned remembers the tenderness, realises it wasn’t a one time thing, that maybe it’s part of how the man inside him fucks and if that’s the case, then there’s not much to do because Ned couldn’t overpower Billy even if he wanted to.  
  
He doesn’t.  
  
Billy fucks him like a lover, like a _husband_ would do a beloved wife and Ned refuses to feel the threat of tears as he’s being filled, over and over, every thrust made for his pleasure as well as the other man’s and it’s overwhelming, it’s maddening and so good, a shameless chase, human animals lost in pleasure and rules of decency and civilisation burned to ashes. This is a challenge Ned Low hasn’t experienced before, not like this and the uncharted seas he’s heading into are dangerous in a way he’s never had to worry about until now.  
  
The man is kissing his neck, prepping him all over with little nibbles and Ned keeps his eyes closed.  
  
“Look at me…”  
“No…”  
  
He swallows.  
  
“Cannae think when ye’re looking at me like tha’…”  
  
It’s too much and he can’t explain but Billy understands, or at least doesn’t question. Ned feels how his body is giving over, getting loose and lax like a doll, a relaxation he’s not felt in years, possibly ever. He’s a second away from coming when the man suddenly grips him hard by the base of his cock, starving off his orgasm and Ned can feel tears now.  
  
Ned Low doesn’t cry. Never ever.  
  
“Am I hurting you? Ned? Hey, talk to me.”  
“Nah… No, ye’re not… Jus’ keep doing… Aye, tha’s… Tha’s it.”  
“Ned… God, Ned…”  
  
No one calls him by his name like that. There’s no soft voice left to say his name like it’s a wish and Ned doesn’t know how he finds the words but he’s begging, fucking _begging _the man to call him by his name again and when Billy does, it’s as sweet as honey, a name belonging to a man with a heart, not a soulless creature, deported from the world of the living, a shell of a man that used to exist.  
  
“Ned… Ned… My sweet, sweet Ned…”  
  
He screams as climax hits him, every sense of control lost and he’s floating, flying on this intoxication that is the man pounding into him, repeating his name like a prayer, every syllable like pearls of a rosary, a blessing and not a curse.  
  
And for a moment, Ned can see a woman with brown hair before him, one who would see a man and not a monster, who would roll his name on her tongue as was it sweet wine and when he comes, he’s crying like he’s never done before, because oh, God, it hurts to be alive and taste sweetness you thought was lost forever.  
  
***  
  
Ned Low.  
  
He doesn’t know that man, not the myth or the rumors, only the man crying in his arms. Billy only knows about the heat of his clenching, the bruising desperation, the heated kisses and how the man allows him to give comfort.  
  
Billy knows a tense spine curving in pleasure, a challenging voice turning soft and needy. He knows of sweet release, of tears onto his chest and how it feels to comfort a man crying for the first time in years.  
  
He’s slipping out with a low hiss, the man moaning as there’s seed running out of him and when he moves away Billy just can’t stand it. He pulls the man he now knows by the name Ned Low close. The name who belongs not to a monster but a man in perpetual grief, broken and lost on black oceans, and Billy buries his mouth onto his neck, sighing words he wouldn’t dare to speak had he been able to restrain himself:  
  
“Don’t leave… Please, Ned, don’t leave…”


End file.
